With a little hiss, she batted his hands away, winced, then set off again at a spanking pace. Case took the opportunity of glancing around. Lanterns were winking at key points along the perimeter of the property. The groundsmen were out in force, as ordered. Well satisfied, he strode after Jane.
In contrast to the tranquility Jane had encountered when she’d visited Lance these last two days, the stable was now a hive of busyness. Every stall was taken and there were grooms currying horses or feeding and watering them. They found Harper in the coach house. He was polishing Lady Rosamund’s carriage, keeping up a flow of one-sided conversation with Lance as he worked.
Lance greeted Case like a long lost friend, then, as if remembering all his grievances at being deserted, held up his paw like a broken wing. It had the desired result. Case made a fuss of him.
Harper put down his polishing cloth. “He’s a born actor, that one,” he said. “You should see him when the doctor comes calling.”
“He’s a malingerer?” asked Case.
“Not a bit of it. He prances around as though he’s as fit as a fiddle so old sawbones won’t change his bandage.”
Case laughed. “How are you, Harper?”
“Mending slowly, like Lance. Was that the duke’s carriage I saw leaving?”
“It was, but it’s only gone to the local hostelry because there’s no room here. His Grace is still up at the house. He gave me a message for you. He wondered if you would like to join him for a wee dram of brandy.”
Harper rubbed his hands together. “A wee dram. So His Grace hasn’t forgotten! You’ll look after Lance till I get back?” When Case nodded, Harper went on, “I’ll just tidy myself and wash my hands.”
When he went into the tack room, Case said, “Harper was our head coachman for a time. You might say he and my father are kindred spirits. Coaching is in their blood.”
“Coaching?” said Jane, her brow wrinkling.
“And coach building. When those two get together over a wee dram, they can bore the ears off a deaf man.” He gave her a clear-eyed stare. “When His Grace heard that Harper was here, he insisted on coming along.”
After thinking this over for a moment or two, Jane said, “I think that’s sweet.”
Case lounged against an upright post and waited for Jane to come to the point. He didn’t have long to wait.
“What’s this about the damage to my house?” she said. “It was the stable that burned down, not the house.”
“I asked the constable to make an inventory,” Case replied easily. “You may remember he is Lauderdale’s estate agent. Just before dinner, I received his reply. It’s smoke damage that’s the problem, Jane.”
As he reeled off a long list of what was necessary before the house was habitable, Jane’s spirits plummeted. She hadn’t thought beyond sweeping the house out and washing everything down. According to the agent, the inside of the house had to be painted from top to bottom; upholstery and drapes had to be cleaned or replaced; the debris from the barn had to be carted away—the list was endless.
Who was going to pay for it? Her landlord, she hoped. It was his property, and she wasn’t responsible for what had happened. If her landlord was true to form, however, it would take him forever to make a beginning.
She shot Case a sharp look. “What did Lady Sophy mean when she said you were taking care of everything?”
He spread his hands. “As I told you before, I feel responsible for what happened. So, I’m sending a team of men from Twickenham to set the place to rights. They should be there tomorrow. But these things take time. You can’t expect them to complete the job in less than a fortnight.”
She pressed her fingertips to her temples. An ugly suspicion was worming its way into her mind. Before she could voice it, Harper returned, wearing a fresh jacket and with his hair neatly combed.
“Half an hour, your lordship,” he said. “That should do it,” and off he went.
Jane looked at Case. “Castleton,” she said, “I can’t be bought. I’m not for sale. Just as long as we understand each other.”
He was still lounging against the post, but his pleasant manner evaporated. “If you knew anything about mistresses,” he said, not mincing words, “you would know that they don’t come that cheaply. You may take my word for it. The going price is a house in town, her own carriage, a box at the opera, and the clothes and jewels to make her the envy of her peers.”
“Sounds to me,” she said, “as though you’d be better off getting married.”
He was charmed by the laughter in her eyes. “Are you offering?”
Her laughter died. “I told you, I’m not for sale, whether it’s for the position of mistress or wife.” Before he could say something else to discomfit her, she went on, “What about La Contessa and Mrs. Standhurst? Are you going to pay for the damage to their property too?”
“I would have if it was necessary, but the damage to their property was minimal. I visited them before I came on here. That’s why I was late.”
It was foolish to be deflated by his answer, but she couldn’t help what she was feeling.
He cocked his head to one side. “Jane, are you pouting?”
Her eyes blazed. “Certainly not. What I am is amazed that you can’t see what an impossible position you’ve placed me in. I don’t like being the object of gossip. I don’t want my name mentioned in the same breath as La Contessa’s. And that’s another thing. Doesn’t the poor woman have a name? ‘La Contessa’ makes her sound like a pretentious half-wit.”
He wasn’t the least put out by this tirade. In fact, it quite encouraged him. Striving for gravity, he said, “Her name is Maria Angelo, la Contessa di Pavia e Modena. She really is an Italian countess, Jane. The count left her penniless when he died, and she came to England because she had friends here.”
“You being one of them,” she added churlishly. “No, don’t answer. It’s none of my business and I don’t want to know. All I care about is my own good name.”
He took the one step that separated them and cupped her shoulders. “Now, you listen to me. I know you think I’m a complete degenerate, but I’m not lost to all sense of decency. I have never introduced my mistress to my father, or asked my aunt to chaperon her, or invited her to take up residence in my sister’s house. It’s just not done. Trust me. Everyone will think exactly what we want them to think, which is more or less the truth: that your house isn’t fit for habitation, so your great friend and admirer, Lady Sophy, invited you to be her guest at Woodlands.”
He looked into her face, trying to gauge her feelings. “Look at me!” he said fiercely, and he cupped her chin to bring her eyes up to meet his. She seemed fragile, and that surprised him.
Her gloved fingers splayed over his chest. “No,” she whispered.
His lips curved. “What are you saying no to?”
What was in his eyes; the way her heart jarred; the sudden realization that she wasn’t as immune to him as she thought she was.
His hand moved to her neck, his fingers tightened. She knew she should pull back. Instead, she lifted her face to him. His lips were warm, tasting, not taking. She felt her mouth opening to the gentle pressure of his. She couldn’t think, didn’t want to think.
He felt an odd tenderness uncurl inside him. He had never kissed a woman like this. It wasn’t a passionate kiss. He knew that Jane wasn’t ready for that kind of intimacy, not yet. She was inexperienced. She kissed as though she’d never been kissed before. But there was passion there, banked, and just waiting for the right man to unleash it. She might not know it yet, but he was that man.
Needs she had never experienced before warmed her skin, stole her breath. It was madness to give in to what she was feeling. She couldn’t allow this. She was playing with fire.
In an act of self-preservation, she deliberately clenched her hands. The pain was just what she needed to bring her to her senses. She gave a little cry, and the next moment she was free. She was wise enough not to back away from him or run. She looked at her hands.
“I hurt you,” he said.
“No.” Her eyes met his in a level stare. “But I think you will, if I let you.”
“No,” he said quickly.
“Or
I
might hurt
you.”
He folded his arms across his chest. “I’m willing to take that chance.”
“I’m happy as I am. Don’t spoil things for me.”
“Are you happy, Jane? Are you sure of that?”
No, she wasn’t happy, but she would have been if he had not come streaking into her life like a comet.
“Oh, what’s the use!” she said angrily. She stalked to the door. Lance went with her. “Stay!” she commanded. “Stay!”
Lance turned to look at Case, who shrugged, and when Lance turned back to the door, it was to find that his mistress was gone. He put back his head and howled.
“I know the feeling,” said Case. He snapped his fingers and after a moment Lance hobbled over. There was a bench against one wall and Case lowered himself onto it. Lance put his head in Case’s lap.
“I’m making progress, don’t you think?” said Case.
Lance licked his hand, as if commiserating with him. Case returned the favor by stroking Lance’s head.
“Did you notice how her eyes turned green when I said I’d already visited La Contessa and Amelia? Not that she has any cause for jealousy there.”
He hadn’t gone alone, but had invited Waldo along just so that his erstwhile mistress would know that he wasn’t interested in a reconciliation. Or maybe he’d taken Waldo along to make sure that La Contessa kept her legendary temper in check. She was still angry with him for ending their affair, and was quite likely to break a vase over his head. That’s why he’d ended the relationship. Her ferocious temper, the scenes, the hysterics had become a crashing bore, and no amount of the lady’s skill in bed could make up for it.
He’d questioned her, discreetly, without mentioning Piers’s name, but she hadn’t told him anything useful. Two men who wore masks had locked her servants in the cellar. They hadn’t stolen anything. Their one aim seemed to be to terrify the wits out of her, and they’d succeeded. She’d been so afraid that they were going to do to her what they’d done to her poor little cat.
When Case suggested that it might be a good idea for her to get out of London for a while, she’d told him with an arch smile that that was already taken care of. Lord Gracey had invited her to spend Christmas with him in Brighton, and if she liked it there, she might never return.
He’d left Waldo consoling La Contessa. Gracey might be her new protector, but the lady was a born flirt. The same could be said of Waldo, so it was no hardship for them to be left alone together.
When he called on Amelia, she’d greeted him with an open-mouthed kiss, but she must have sensed his reserve because the kiss was short-lived. There was no embarrassment, no hurt feelings. That was one of the things he liked about Amelia. She didn’t demand more from a man than he was willing to give.
Because he knew that he could count on her discretion, he told her more than he’d told La Contessa, but not much more, only that he suspected her housebreakers were warning him off the investigation into the Hyde Park murder, and that she wasn’t the only one to be singled out like this. She hadn’t been in the house when the men broke in, so she summoned her butler and had him tell the story. Once again there were two men. While one held the servants at bay with a gun, the other, after learning that Mrs. Standhurst was not there, had gone on the rampage, smashing vases and mirrors and breaking chairs. When they left, they took her little dog with them.
It was the loss of the dog that was most upsetting to Amelia. Scamp was old; he had arthritis; he needed looking after. What could these villains possibly want with her dog?
When Lance looked up and whined, Case said, “No, Lance. They could never carry you off. Scamp was so small that one could carry him under one’s arm. I once mistook him for an orange muff.”
He’d told Amelia that the dog might have run off and been taken in by strangers. He doubted it, but it was too cruel to rob her of all hope. The one thing he could not do was persuade Amelia to leave London. Now that she understood the danger, she said, she would take precautions, but nothing and no one was going to chase her away from her home. Besides, she wanted to be here in case Scamp came back.
He left her house wondering why she couldn’t stir his softer feelings the way Jane did. The only thing he wondered about La Contessa was what maggot had persuaded him to keep paying her astronomical bills when he got so little satisfaction from the relationship. But Amelia was different. In some respects, she was not unlike Jane. She valued her independence. Add to that, she knew how to dress and make the most of her looks. She had a certain panache and went out of her way to please men.
He didn’t want Jane to go out of her way to please men, only one man, himself.
Lance stirred, lumbered to his feet, and sniffed the air.
“No. She’s not coming back,” Case told him, “so settle down.” After a moment, he reached in his pocket, found a cheroot, then remembered that smoking was absolutely forbidden anywhere near the stables, so he put it away again.
Lance was now prowling restlessly. Case wasn’t paying attention. He was still occupied by his own thoughts. Jane had been single so long that she couldn’t see a man fitting into her world. And the Ladies’ Library wasn’t exactly kindly disposed toward men. It wasn’t much of a life in his opinion; she had her writing, her little acreage in the country, and the Ladies’ Library.
Passion—that’s what was missing from her life. She didn’t know how it could make her ache, how it could become like a physical pain.
Patience,
he reminded himself. If he wanted to win her, he had to move slowly. But patience didn’t seem to be working.
His thoughts broke off abruptly when he became aware that Lance was scratching at the door, not the door to the stable, but the outside door to the yard.
Case got up. “What is it, boy?”
There was something wrong here. Lance was growling menacingly, and his hackles were beginning to rise.
Case looked around, found a leather strap, and hooked it to the dog’s collar. “All right. Show me.”